First Person

I never knew bed sheets could be so light.
With him by my side every morning and every night, the heavy air of dark and burden dissipated the moment his arms curled around me. The moment his heat felt mine and all cold lifted and shifted into warm shared breaths.
And I never knew beds could be sanctuaries. With his embrace flooding every second of my body, the mattress enveloped us and we were gone, out of sight and into each other.
And I never knew home could be a man. I never knew.

.~.

But I didn’t want to go to school every morning. I didn’t want to fight for my family or protest against human rights violations or help the needy. I didn’t want to go home at the end of the day or wake up in my bed at the beginning. I didn’t want children or good food or a degree. I didn’t want late night parties or early morning walks. I didn’t want floral dresses and midnight kisses and starry skies. I didn’t want time to pass like it does or light to shine as it does or water to flow when it does. I didn’t want lungs that sigh every second. I didn’t want a heart that beats the love out of me and back. I didn’t want a mind that spins and spins and spins ever so aimlessly. I didn’t want this terrorizing conscience terrorizing me all the time. I didn’t want me.

.~.

I can’t take it in. I can’t look at you today and pass you by. I can’t speak yet I can’t hold it in anymore. I can’t tell you the truth today, maybe yesterday was a more magical moment for such a hideous confession, but today I can’t. And I can’t be happy and I can’t dance or sing or fly or hit and run. I can’t get high, get stoned, or get laid. I can’t even walk home without the scandal dripping through every orifice and every pore. I can’t be yours. I can’t be mine.